The neon lights of New Orleans flickered like false stars, their glow painting Bourbon Street in a mirage of gold and crimson. Music spilled from every doorway, mingling with the laughter of tourists and the scent of aged whiskey. But beneath the revelry, the city hummed with something ancient, something dark. It was here that Evelyn Sinclair first met the devil.
Evelyn had always been drawn to the unexplainable, a seeker of stories hidden in shadows. As a journalist for The Occult Times, she had chased myths from the catacombs of Paris to the abandoned asylums of New England. But New Orleans held something different. There were whispers of a man—Elijah Duvall—who was said to make deals that defied reason. A man who never aged, who appeared when the desperate had nowhere left to turn.
She found him in a dimly lit jazz club, his figure reclining in a crimson leather booth. He was impossibly handsome, dark-eyed, and draped in a tailored black suit that seemed to drink in the light. When he looked at her, it was as if he already knew why she had come.
“You’ve been looking for me,” he murmured, his voice as smooth as honeyed bourbon. “What is it you desire, Ms. Sinclair?”
Evelyn, ever the skeptic, refused to be unnerved. “I want the truth. People say you can grant anything for a price. Is that true?”
A slow smile played on his lips. “Truth is a fickle thing. But, yes. I offer bargains.”
She leaned in, her pulse betraying her steady facade. “What’s the price?”
He chuckled, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. “That depends. The desperate trade their souls. Others… offer something far more valuable.”
“And what would that be?”
He studied her for a long moment before answering. “Love.”
Evelyn laughed, the sound hollow in the intimacy of the booth. “Love? That’s not exactly quantifiable.”
“Oh, but it is.” His fingers traced the rim of his glass. “Would you like to make a deal, Ms. Sinclair?”
She hesitated. It was foolish, but there was something about him—something that pulled at her. She wasn’t desperate. She had no reason to strike a bargain. And yet…
“What do you want from me?” she asked at last.
His smile was slow, deliberate. “A year. One year of your love, freely given.”
She should have walked away. She should have laughed it off and written her article on superstition. But something in his dark gaze, something ancient and weary, held her still. Against all logic, she whispered, “And what do I get in return?”
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. A jolt of warmth, almost electric, surged through her. “Anything your heart desires.”
Evelyn had chased mysteries her whole life. And now, one had come to her, offering a deal she couldn’t refuse.
“I accept.”
The next morning, she awoke in her apartment to find her inbox flooded with career-changing offers, her rent mysteriously paid in full, and a letter with no return address resting on her nightstand.
One year. I will come for you soon. – Elijah
And come for her, he did.
Elijah appeared at her doorstep two nights later, dressed in his usual black suit, a knowing smirk on his lips. He took her hand, led her into the night, and from that moment, Evelyn’s world was never the same.
Their love affair was intoxicating. He showed her wonders beyond comprehension—secret doors in forgotten alleyways that led to realms bathed in silver light, whispered spells that made time stand still. She found herself lost in his touch, in his kiss, in the way his voice curled around her name like a promise.
And yet, there was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he never spoke of.
One night, as they lay beneath a sky that seemed painted just for them, Evelyn traced her fingers along his jaw. “What are you, really?” she asked.
He sighed, pulling her close. “A curse,” he murmured against her hair. “Bound to these bargains. Bound to an eternity of longing for something I can never truly have.”
She lifted her head, searching his gaze. “What do you long for?”
His thumb brushed her lower lip, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Freedom.”
She swallowed hard. “And if I love you? Truly love you?”
Elijah smiled, but it was tinged with sorrow. “Then, my love, our year will end, and you will forget me.”
A cold dread settled in her chest. “Forget?”
He nodded. “That is the price of my existence. I am given love, but never allowed to keep it. When our time is done, you will wake with no memory of me, only a lingering ache you won’t understand.”
Evelyn refused to accept that. She spent nights scouring ancient texts, searching for a loophole. She found legends of devils who had broken their curses, who had been freed by love. But as the days slipped away, the inevitable loomed closer.
On the eve of their final night, Elijah held her like he never wanted to let go. “Do you regret it?” he asked, his voice raw.
Tears burned her eyes. “Never.”
“Then let me give you one last gift,” he whispered.
The world spun as he kissed her, his lips searing her soul. And then…
Darkness.
Evelyn woke in her apartment, her heart hammering. She blinked, disoriented, a strange emptiness clawing at her chest. She reached for her phone, finding only an unfamiliar ache she couldn’t explain.
Months passed. She continued her work, but something always felt… missing. Faces in the crowd seemed almost familiar. Certain songs made her heart lurch in ways she didn’t understand.
Then, one autumn evening, as she wandered the streets of New Orleans, her eyes caught on a man at a café table. Dressed in black, dark-eyed, impossibly familiar.
He looked up. Their gazes locked.
And for the first time in eternity, Elijah whispered her name with something he had never dared hope for before.
Recognition.
Their story was not over.
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